


Watching

by anonymous_sibyl



Category: Burn Notice
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-11-29
Updated: 2007-11-29
Packaged: 2017-10-03 23:07:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymous_sibyl/pseuds/anonymous_sibyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thing about surveillance is that it can be really boring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Watching

**Author's Note:**

> For [](http://romanticalgirl.livejournal.com/profile)[**romanticalgirl**](http://romanticalgirl.livejournal.com/)
> 
> This work is licensed under a [Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License](http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/3.0/us/). None of the media or characters written about in my fanfiction belong to me and I make no profit from these works. 

The thing about surveillance is that it can be really boring. You watch some guy wake up, scratch his balls, sit on the john for half an hour, and, if you're lucky, the talk show he decides to watch while eating his Cheerios is something you enjoy. For the most part, though, it's all balls and Springer.

Fiona's different. For one thing, there's no balls. So when she wakes up and sticks her hands under the sheet, then closes her eyes in bliss, you know it can't be for a good scratch.

Then she starts moaning, and this is either the best surveillance ever or the worst. You should look away, maybe go get yourself a drink or take a cold shower, but you can't, because one of the first rules of surveillance is never blink. It's when you blink that your subject does the thing you're watching to make sure they don't do.

So you don't look away, and you haven't blinked in so long that your eyes are bone dry, and Fi is moaning now, twisting those long legs of hers in the sheets until they fall below her hips. Her right hand is in her panties, her left resting on her bare stomach, brushing the edge of the tank top that's ridden up around her ribs. Her head is tilted back and her mouth is half open. She looks like she's having a great time and you about want to die.

It takes about fifteen minutes until her hand falls off her stomach and grips the sheet beneath her, twisting it in her fingers. Your own hand is gripping the edge of the table so tight you think you might break it. This is what you get for spying on a lover, an ex-lover, a future-lover, whatever the hell Fi is and was, so you suck it up and watch right up until the gasping end.

"Jesus, Fiona," you mutter, because watching that woman get off is like seeing god, and because for the first time in a long time you feel like you've watched something you shouldn't have. The job is shit and you know it, but it's all you know and all you're good at, so you wipe the sweat from your brow and blink, just once, while she composes herself and curls back up under the sheets.

"I hope you enjoyed that, Michael," you hear her say, and when you open your eyes in shock she's no longer on the screen.

It takes you four days to pick up her trail again, and by the time you do the guns have disappeared and so has your quarry. Fiona walks up to you, brushes the fingers of her right hand across your cheek, and leans in close. "You should know better than to blink, Michael."

You do, you just don't care.


End file.
